


blueberry creampie

by alykapedia



Series: pastel blue blush [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe - Aliens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 06:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18382826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia
Summary: “Okay, so in the interest of scientific inquiry,” Phichit starts to say in the middle of a crucial test run for the recently established communication servers between Earth and Neva. “I have to ask: what does it look like?”“What does what look like?” Yuuri parrots back with wide eyes, partly to annoy Phichit and mostly because he has absolutely no idea what his best friend is talking about.(Or: A (Not-So) Scientific Inquiry to the Secondary Sexual Characteristics of the Nevan Male (Katsuki, 2019).)





	blueberry creampie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunardistance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunardistance/gifts).



> for lunardistance bc this is all her fauLT WAHAHAHAHA THANK YOU FOR BEING ONE OF MY WORST/BEST ENABLERS ILU BB we've had so many in-depth discussions about the nevan reproductive system (some of them in public too!) it's honestly crazy hhhh
> 
> probably terrible bc i've been hacking away at this for MONTHS now and my brain is like,,,on dial-up nowadays and refuses to cooperate. i just really needed to finish something and it's high time i've dazzled you all with my genius for coming up with this horrible terrible title HAHAHAHA i almost died laughing when i came up with it in the middle of commute
> 
> unedited. we post our rough drafts like men.

The day had started off great.

Fantastic, even.

Yuuri would even go as far as to say that today has been gearing up to be nothing less than perfect.

For one, their coffee maker actually produced halfway decent coffee instead of the semi-sentient black sludge that it normally does. Which honestly deserved a celebration all on its own because since time immemorial, that thing has never produced anything resembling coffee. Ever. And then Viktor had shown up with tiny pancakes and an assortment of Nevan fruit jams for breakfast that he’d insisted on feeding to Yuuri. The entire endeavor had inevitably ended up with them making out in the break room for a solid half hour—in both the Nevan and Terran way because cultural exchange was very, very important—before Councilor Yakov had arrived to drag Viktor away. Not to mention that Yuuri and his team have just finished the communication servers they’ve been working on, and the entire ISA has been riding on a discovery high.

But Yuuri probably shouldn’t have expected too much.

It _was_ a Monday after all, and everyone knows that terrible things happened on a Monday.

It was just how things worked.

Which is why Yuuri shouldn’t have been too surprised when Phichit decided to open his big mouth.

“Okay, so in the interest of scientific inquiry,” Phichit starts to say in the middle of a crucial test run for the recently established communication servers between Earth and Neva, as if anything he says in this particular tone of voice—aptly dubbed by Leo as _Phichit’s about to start some bullshit_ tone—is ever remotely connected to anything particularly scientific. “I have to ask: what does it look like?”

Years of experience tell Yuuri that it’s a very, very bad idea to look up and acknowledge Phichit’s question. It’s almost akin to looking into Medusa’s eyes, deadly and will turn you into stone, but he does it anyway. Because Yuuri’s a bit of a masochist and a bit of an idiot, but mostly because Yuuri also knows from experience that Phichit is not a problem that goes away upon application of willful ignorance.

If anything, Phichit is a problem that _worsens_ upon application of willful ignorance and Yuuri doesn’t want to risk it.

“What does what look like?” He parrots back with wide eyes, partly to annoy Phichit and mostly because he has absolutely no idea what his best friend is talking about.

They’ve been working nonstop for three days to establish a stable connection between Neva and Earth, and Yuuri’s brain has given up on things that don’t involve distance calculations, the electromagnetic spectrum, and breathing. It’s a small wonder that Phichit has time to think of other things. But then again, Phichit is _Phichit_ and is a phenomenon unto himself. It’s a fact that’s been a boon and a bane over the course of their friendship and professional relationship, and Yuuri has a feeling that it’s gonna be a bane this time around.

“The prince’s dick.”

Yuuri chokes.

(Unfortunately _not_ on the prince’s dick, but on air.

But Yuuri will get there.

Eventually.

Hopefully.)

He thanks his lucky stars that the only ones in the room right now are his team and a few stragglers—all human, _thank god_ —who are hopefully too far away to hear what Phichit just said. Yuuri does _not_ want to deal with the political fallout of that particular comment should a Nevan overhear. He’s already made a fool of himself far too many times already—via an intergalactic broadcast too, in front of his future in-laws--and the last thing Yuuri needs is for any Nevan to think that he’s not taking this whole engagement thing seriously when Yuuri’s taking this more seriously than anything he’s ever done before, including his dissertation.

And he tries to convey that sentiment nonverbally, trying to awaken some hitherto telepathic abilities. But his efforts are futile, because Phichit is carrying on as if speculating about the Nevan Crown Prince’s dick is a perfectly normal thing to do.

Which, for the record, it’s not.

“Unless of course, he doesn’t have one.” Phichit is saying, lazily spinning around on his swivel chair, and it takes everything for Yuuri not to kick at him and send him rolling down the aisle and far, far away. “But from what I’ve read from the information packets they gave us, male Nevans have, and I quote, a reproductive organ used to penetrate their mate and deliver…” Phichit pauses, motioning at one of the holo displays up on his workstation and pulling up a file before continuing, “What I’m guessing is the equivalent of sperm and something else? The translators get pretty wonky here because it keeps translating this word to eggs.”

“Ohmygod.”

Phichit nods, apparently taking Yuuri’s reaction as agreement when it could not be farther away from the truth. “For the sake of your butt, I’m hoping that this isn’t indicative of ovipositing.”

From their workstations, Leo and Guang-hong let out a series of guffaws and snorts while Seung-gil clears his throat in a manner that tells Yuuri that he’s definitely laughing at him, and Yuuri is definitely going to give them a shitty evaluation at the end of the year for this gross insubordination.

Traitors, the whole lot of them.

“ _Ohmygod_ ,” Yuuri repeats because he could have honestly gone the rest of his life without hearing ovipositing used in the context of his butt.

Aside from his brief conversation with Sara about Nevan blood composition all those months ago and his very hands-on education with Viktor regarding Nevan kisses, Yuuri hasn’t really bothered to learn anything about Nevan biology. Not because he isn’t interested. Because he’d have to be dead to not be curious. But between the seemingly never ending wedding preparations that seem to multiply the closer they get to the date, and his responsibilities as his department’s head scientist and Earth’s champion, Yuuri hasn’t had much time to read up on less-pressing concerns like Nevan penises, especially when he’d see one eventually.

And besides, he’s gonna have the rest of his life learning about Nevan sexual practices so there’s really no rush.

He’d rather discover stuff with Viktor anyway.

Rolling his chair closer, Phichit asks, pressing on doggedly, “So? Does he have a tentacle dick? A _tentadick_?”

This time, Seung-gil lets out a snicker that sets off a chain reaction that has Leo and Guang-hong doubling over in laughter with tears in their eyes, and _god_ , Yuuri can’t believe this is his life now. How is this his life? What the hell did Yuuri do in a past life that he deserves to suffer like this?

“Or maybe it’s something prehensile?” Phichit wonders aloud, making a very rude gesture with his hands. “I bet it’s something prehensile.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri whines, burying his burning face into his hands.

“Because okay, the Nevans are pretty tight-lipped about the whole reproduction shebang despite being open about everything else, and you can’t blame a boy for being curious.”

Yuuri would, as a matter of fact, like to blame Phichit for being curious and opening this can of proverbial worms when they should be focusing on their jobs. “Can we please not talk about this now?” Or ever for that matter. He’s not above begging at all and would willingly go on his knees if it means Phichit would stop talking about his fiance’s cock.

For a brief moment, Yuuri thinks that he’s managed to sway Phichit into shutting up about it, as silence rings after his plea. That is, until he peeks through his fingers and looks up to see Phichit wearing his patented _I’m very disappointed in you_ look, which, okay, doesn’t make any sense at all. Yuuri’s pretty sure that he hasn’t done anything in recent memory to warrant it.

“You guys haven’t done it yet, have you?”

Okay, so apparently the problem is that Yuuri really hasn’t done anything.

“How do you even know that?!” Yuuri splutters incredulously, before hissing lowly, “I’m pretty sure I can have you arrested for this.” Councilor Yakov had given him a brief rundown of his future responsibilities, as well as the privileges he would be afforded, as Prince Consort (e.g. a satellite planet of his own, approximately half of Viktor’s net worth, a colony or two in Andromeda), and Yuuri’s pretty sure that having people arrested is a thing he can do.

“True,” Phichit allows with an imperious shrug, leaning back against his seat. “But you’re not Prince Consort yet.”

 

.

 

Let it be known that Yuuri had tried.

Really, he had.

He’d tried very, very hard.

But try as he might, he doesn’t quite succeed at forgetting Phichit’s bullshit excuse of a scientific inquiry to pry into Yuuri’s nonexistent sex life. Yuuri doesn’t succeed at forgetting _at all_ and, as a matter of fact, remembers the entire thing vividly. In full resolution, ultra-high definition—can remember Phichit’s words down to the very letter. Meaning, of course, that he spends the rest of the week plagued by thoughts about his fiance’s possibly prehensile dick.

And okay, okay, fine, if he’s being completely honest about it, he doesn’t really mind not forgetting about the whole thing. Yuuri’s a scientist at his core, and even though he’s not a big fan of the squishy, gross sciences—give him numbers and figures and mechanics any day—he’s curious about _this_. He’ll be marrying Viktor very soon, uniting Earth and Neva in an alliance that spans entire galaxies, and has a countdown timer on his phone for when he will officially become the Prince Consort of the Nevan Empire.

Yuuri figures that he’s more than allowed to be curious about what’s happening down Viktor’s pants since he’s gonna be dealing with it for the rest of their married lives.

So yeah, Yuuri doesn’t quite forget about the whole thing despite what he’s led Phichit and everyone else to believe. The question simmers in the back of his mind, leaves Yuuri absently wondering what Viktor’s dick looks like as he listens to trade and peace treaties, approves color schemes for the wedding invitations, and suffers through a five-hour-long suit fitting for his _reception outfit_.  

It’ll be blue, he thinks, darker than the soft periwinkle that powders Viktor’s cheeks when he blushes, maybe even darker than the shade of blue that Viktor’s lips get after Yuuri teaches him about human kisses. However, even though he’d swallowed his pride and turned to Google in his time of need to look at possible alien genitalia—and _wow, okay, he’s definitely wiping his entire search history_ —Yuuri still has no idea what the shape of it would be.

It’s probably why the question, which has been on the backseat of his mind during his biweekly date with Viktor crashes to the forefront now, and Yuuri almost stumbles and falls flat on his face on the way back to his apartment if not for Viktor’s tight grip on his arm.

“Yuuri?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” He says, but it does nothing to quell Viktor’s concern, which has turned into a palpable thing, dousing Yuuri in warmth and love and everything good in the world as he regains his footing. It also makes Yuuri feel like the biggest pervert for making Viktor worry about him like this when he’s really just too busy thinking about what Viktor’s cock looks like.

“You’ve been distracted the entire night,” Viktor observes, tilting his head to the side and reaching out to cradle Yuuri’s burning cheek. “Just what is going on in that head of yours, hm?” He asks, brushing his thumb back and forth on Yuuri’s cheek and Yuuri has never been more thankful for the fact that Viktor would never use his abilities on Yuuri without his express permission.

He really, really doesn’t want to find out how Viktor would react if he finds out Yuuri’s been over-fixating on his dick like some weirdo.

With a small grimace, Yuuri turns his face into Viktor’s hand and tries to will the warmth in cheeks away. He fails. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and Yuuri _is_ , because the date was, _is_ , textbook and Viktor has been nothing but the perfect date. He looks every bit a fairy tale prince, even in just a black turtleneck and dark wash jeans, his long, silver hair done up in an elaborate braid and draped over one shoulder. Meanwhile, Yuuri looks like a mess, and not even a hot one, and has been the kind of date that people make long, disparaging Twitter threads about. “It’s just been busy, what with the engineering department and the wedding preparations...”

It’s a shitty excuse, especially since Viktor must be ten times busier than he is but has still managed to find time to arrange a date and woo Yuuri the human way. But Viktor seems to take it all in stride, nodding in understanding before dragging the pads of two fingers against Yuuri’s nape in a soft Nevan kiss that Yuuri returns easily, pressing his own fingers to the back of Viktor’s neck.

“I guess this would be a bad time to ask if I can come inside for coffee,” Viktor muses, a rueful smile playing on his lips, his bright blue eyes twinkling even in the dim light. The fingers pressed to the back of Yuuri’s neck curl in, Viktor’s nails scratching lightly against the sensitized skin there in a manner that has to be filthy—the Nevan equivalent of a French kiss maybe—if the spark that tingles down Yuuri’s spine is any indication.

“But you don’t like coffee,” Yuuri manages through the sudden dryness in his mouth, looking up at Viktor a bit dazedly as the back of his neck prickles. He’s too busy _not_ thinking about Viktor _coming inside_ in a totally different capacity that he completely misses the other meaning to Viktor’s words. Chalks off the heat in Viktor’s gaze as him projecting his own desires—

At least until Viktor goes a worrying shade of blue and starts spluttering, eyes wide, waving his hands around in a panic and Yuuri is suddenly reminded by the fact that Viktor had _crossed entire galaxies to find him with the intent of marrying him_. “No! That’s not what I meant!” Viktor is practically yelling, face turning a blotchy blue. “The coffee—it’s a euphemism? I—I heard from—from Guang-hong that it means—”

Yuuri knows very well what it means and he’s going to have _words_ with Guang-hong later and ask him just what the hell he was thinking teaching _that_ to the _Nevan Crown Prince_ , but for now, he takes Viktor’s hands in his, gazes up at Viktor through his lashes, and asks, “Do you want to come inside for coffee, then?”

Viktor, as it turns out, does.

Very, very much.

Because the next thing Yuuri knows, Viktor has his hands on the back of his thighs and pulling, lifting him up. And it has Yuuri swallowing down a screech as he scrabbles for purchase on Viktor’s shoulders, legs winding around Viktor’s waist. He has nosy aunties for neighbors and the last thing Yuuri wants is to have Mrs. Ha from the next apartment over to peek out of her door because of the noise and see Viktor carry him inside the apartment like he weighs nothing. Which, come to think of it, he probably _does_ weigh nothing to Viktor, who’d once toppled one of the heavy-duty autoclaves—which had to be carried in using a small forklift—in Sara’s lab _by accident_.

“Okay?” Viktor asks, uncertain, as if there’s a reality where Yuuri doesn’t find _this_ hot.

As if Yuuri hasn’t thought about Viktor carrying him an embarrassing number of times already.

As if Yuuri doesn’t have a very specific fantasy of Viktor manhandling him and just bouncing him on his cock like Yuuri was a toy—

“Very okay,” Yuuri manages to croak out as he tries and mostly fails to get his brain out of the gutter. He’s not sure what sort of emotion he’s projecting right now but it’s enough to make Viktor stagger on the way to his room, letting out a strangled noise all the while.

And then Viktor is throwing him onto the bed and they’re kissing again—in both the Nevan and human way—and oh, _oh_ , that almost vicious scratching thing Viktor is doing to the back of his neck is _definitely_ something obscene. Mirrors the way Viktor is devouring him, licking and sucking and biting until Yuuri’s lips feel sore and raw. Has him thinking of other body parts that would feel sore and raw after Viktor’s had his fill of him and _god_ , Yuuri’s never wanted anything so badly.  

He’s in the middle of sucking a bruise on the underside of Viktor’s jaw, hands fumbling with Viktor’s belt, when Viktor suddenly makes a weird, high-pitched sound that the translator gives up on translating and pulls away.

“This is—is this alright?” Viktor asks, wild-eyed and ruffled, and Yuuri has to valiantly ignore the frisson of heat that goes through him at the sight. “I know some Terrans don’t abide by sexual intercourse prior to marriage—”

“What?” Yuuri blurts out, because what part of this doesn’t look okay? He’s hard and panting and raring to just go and ride Viktor into the sunset. He is more than okay. “Is _this_ okay for you?” He asks, slowly pulling his hands away from the placket of Viktor’s jeans, and he has a moment of dawning horror that maybe the reason why the Nevans are so tight-lipped about their reproductive practices is because they’re _sacred_ and Yuuri’s just gone and committed a social faux pas yet again, and he really has to wonder just how many gaffes he’s allowed before the Nevans decide that they’ve had enough and call off the marriage.

With an air of longsuffering, Viktor chokes on a laugh, cupping Yuuri’s burning cheeks and peppering his face with human kisses. “Yuuri, we really should get you better shields.” He sounds fond and exasperated which makes both of them, and Yuuri projects as much, earning another laugh from Viktor, who admits with a grin, “I only wanted to check! It’s actually expected for affianced pairs to do so frequently before marriage to test their sexual compatibility.”

“Oh.” Well, in that case. “Then we should continue and find out if we’re sexually compatible,” Yuuri murmurs, pulling Viktor in with a hand to the back of his neck as he falls back against the pillows once more.

“I’m very certain that we are.” And then Viktor is making quick work of his clothes and glasses, pulling and tugging until Yuuri is gasping as the cool air hits his heated skin, nipples hardening into nubs. His cock springs up to curve against his stomach, already leaking precome, and Yuuri would feel embarrassed but Viktor is looking at him like a man starved; pupils blown wide, the crystalline blue of his irises reduced to a thin ring. “You are very...pink,” he says and Yuuri lets out a laugh that quickly transforms into a moan as Viktor smooths his palms over his stomach, the action almost reverent. “It’s lovely,” he continues, dragging a hand along Yuuri’s aching cock. “You’re lovely.”

A part of Yuuri wants to protest because he isn’t lovely at all, but he’s too busy rutting up against Viktor’s hand and chanting, “o _ff, off_ ,” tugging at Viktor’s clothes, hungry for the slide of skin against skin.

“Bossy.” Viktor tuts even though he’s already pulling off his turtleneck and shimmying out of his ridiculously tight jeans.

“Hurry u—”

The rest of the word dies a horrible death on his tongue as Viktor finally peels his jeans down the sharp angle of his hips and Yuuri can only stare because, _well_ , Viktor’s cock is blue, alright. Big too, well-proportioned from where it curves up between Viktor’s muscled thighs. He’s expected both, but it’s the shape of it that gives Yuuri pause, even as heat fills his belly and more precome dribbles out of his cock. It’s composed of four bulbous segments, each knob thicker than the last; from the tapered tip down to the base that’s almost like a knot, and Yuuri feels his insides shift, hole twitching in anticipation.

It’s better than anything he could have imagined and _god_ , Yuuri needs it inside him right now.

“ _Fuck_.”

Before he's fully aware of what he's doing, he's shifting his weight and rolling them over so that he's perched on top of Viktor, who's now staring up at him with startled eyes and a violent blue blush burning high on his cheeks. Yuuri preens, grinning at the way Viktor’s cock twitches against his thigh and files the reaction away for next time. He's never going to be able to carry Viktor outside of a zero-grav chamber—there was just something about Nevan bone composition that made them much heavier than humans—but Yuuri knows enough Judo, courtesy of Mari and Takeshi, to take Viktor down. And judging from the hungry glint in Viktor's crystalline eyes, it would be more than welcome.

But for now, he leans in for another kiss and fumbles for the lube he keeps in his bedside drawer. It's been a while since he's done anything more than furtively jack off in the shower but some things are just ingrained to muscle memory and Yuuri's sinking down on two slick fingers with a punched out gasp.

The sudden stretch burns and oh, _oh_ he's going to hate himself come morning, but Yuuri's never been particularly patient. And the burn is all worth it for the way Viktor moans, looking absolutely wrecked when he realizes what Yuuri's doing, scrambling up on his elbows so he can watch, eyes transfixed between Yuuri's trembling thighs.

And what else is there to do but put on a show?

Bracing a hand on Viktor’s knee, Yuuri arches his back and proceeds to do just that—fucks himself on two fingers, twisting them with every thrust so that they drag against his prostate until he’s leaking and choking on gasps and moans with every breath. As eager as he is to just sink down on Viktor and find out how Viktor’s cock would feel inside him, the weight of Viktor’s gaze has Yuuri wanting to draw this out, test the limits of Viktor’s patience and control. See how far he can push before Viktor finally decides to throw him on the bed and have his way with him.

He has three fingers stuffed inside his hole when the air in the room changes, crackling with electricity. Through their preliminary bond, Yuuri feels Viktor’s control go taut before it snaps, leaving him reeling and keening, mouth going slack. And then Viktor is grabbing at him and pulling his fingers out, and Yuuri doesn’t even register the sudden emptiness before he’s dragged down on Viktor’s cock and the bulbous head presses in sweet and slow.

“Okay?”

Yuuri feels more than hears Viktor ask when the head pops in. He can barely breathe, can’t even talk so he doesn’t bother with a response, focusing instead on relaxing his muscles as Viktor pulls him down to take in another segment, and there’s two more to go but Yuuri already feels so full, body pushed to the limits and he thinks he may have blacked out a bit because when he comes to, he’s sat completely on Viktor’s lap and stuffed fit to bursting.

“Breathe for me, beautiful.”

And Yuuri doesn’t so much manage a shaky breath as get the air punched out of him because Viktor suddenly hefts him up by the thighs—each segment of his cock dragging roughly against his prostate and rim—and starts bouncing him up and down on his cock. It’s all Yuuri can do to hold on for dear life as Viktor goes to town. It’s overwhelmingly good. Ten different kinds of good. Toe-curling and perfect and Yuuri’s never felt so full. His entire body’s singing with sensation, each thrust exquisite—catching at his sensitive rim so that it feels like he’s being stretched anew over and over again and Yuuri thinks he might just go crazy with it.

“Yuuri, Yuuri,” Viktor chants as he presses their foreheads together, one hand curling around Yuuri’s aching cock, and Yuuri does go crazy then, because it’s—

— _Yuuri’s tight, tight heat clenching perfectly around him, the salt of his sweat, the sweetness of his mouth, the sight of him above Viktor_ —and it’s a feedback loop of pure, unadulterated pleasure, going higher and higher until Yuuri’s falling off the edge and into freefall—

And then he’s coming with a shout, releasing all over Viktor’s stomach, with Viktor following close behind, flooding him with warmth, and Yuuri spares a slightly hysterical thought for how absolutely irresponsible it is to have sex without a condom, and he can almost hear Sara’s lecture about alien venereal diseases, before he passes out.

 

.

 

“A tentacle?”

Yuuri’s not sure what possessed him to tell Viktor about Phichit’s not-so scientific interest in his dick afterwards, but he does, and he regrets every single thing he’s ever done until this moment. Except not really, because Viktor giggle snorts in a decidedly unattractive way that makes Yuuri’s heart fall ass over teakettle over itself, and he has to bury his burning face in his hands. “Don’t laugh.”

“Would you have preferred a tentacle?” Viktor asks, still laughing, because he’s a terrible, terrible person and Yuuri should break off the engagement already. “Because there are implements I can prepare—”

Yuuri shrieks, swatting at Viktor, who’s devolved into dolphin-like noises, before parsing out the rest of Viktor’s words. “Wait, what does that mean?” Because Viktor can’t possibly mean that—

“I believe there’s a machine that allows a tentacle to…”

Except he does, and Yuuri’s clearly going to have to do more research on Nevan sexual practices because this is just getting ridiculous and Yuuri doesn’t think he can handle it if Viktor gets him a tentacle sybian. “I—I think I’d like to be accustomed to yours first.” Not that Yuuri sees himself getting accustomed to the shape and size of Viktor’s cock any time soon.

Viktor makes a weird, trilling sound before nuzzling at his ear. “It’s a shame you can’t get pregnant yet,” he murmurs, rubbing at Yuuri’s belly, and there’s something about his tone—like Yuuri getting pregnant is an inevitability, never mind the fact that Yuuri doesn’t have the right organs for that—that has Yuuri whirling around in Viktor’s hold and asking, demanding:

“ _Yet?_ ”

 

**Author's Note:**

> prayer circle for yuuri's butt
> 
> will have another follow-up to this feat. yuuri and viktor's faberge egg children BUT FOR NOW I AM FREE FROM THIS FIC AND I CAN WORK ON OTHER THINGS INSTEAD OF OBSESSING OVER HOW MUCH I CAN'T WRITE SEX
> 
> pls water my crops by commenting they are all dying in this tropical heat
> 
> if you enjoyed this please pls pls do consider sharing it on [twitter](https://twitter.com/alykapedia/status/1114873418652852225) or on [tumblr](http://alykapediaaa.tumblr.com/post/184009318561/blueberry-creampie-alykapedia-yuri-on-ice) thank u!!


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